Choices Made
by Stormy1x2
Summary: The guys are captured by Bishop again. Mikey is the focal point of an experiment that will change all of their lives, particularly his and Raph's. Very dark fic, turtle torture, see inside for additional warnings. Rating M, overall. Part of LJ fanfic100.
1. Choices Made

**Title:** The Choices We Make

**Author: **(travelingstorm)

**Rating:** Part 1 -PG13, NC17 overall

**Word Count (fic portion) Chapter 1: ** 1987

**Warnings: **This is going to be _**DARK DARK ANGSTY TORTURE AND MORE!**_ Lots of not-so-nice details, including Bishop, turtle-torture, drugs, psychological problems and even more unspeakable acts that will be NOT be labeled for fear of giving the whole plot away. There WILL be a happy ending (eventually) but the road from here to there is going to be long and painful.

**Notes:** This is a 11 part story, with each section falling under a different them in LJ's fanfic100 community, character: Michaelangelo. This is chapter one, theme 22: **Enemies**.

**ooo...000...ooo**

Michaelangelo had had some pretty nasty dreams in his lifetime.

It was to be expected. The lives he and his brothers led, the battles they'd fought, the things they'd seen; neither their losses nor their wins made for very pleasant dreams. More then once in his life, Mikey had woken up, screaming in terror from the visions plaguing his dreams, his nose filled with the scent of blood, the taste of hot ash burning his tongue from never-ending flames.

All of them had had their fair share of nightmares over the years. Each time they squared off against a new enemy, Mikey knew that it was only a matter of time before one of them – if not all – would wake up, screaming. Well, at any rate, _he'd_ scream. Raph had a habit of coming awake, cursing and swearing, trying to fight the folds of his blanket he'd gotten wrapped up in during his thrashing, determined to break free. Donnie would shiver silently and sleep through most of his, waking in a cold sweat he'd try to wash away with a lengthy shower. And Leo – well, Leo was the one turtle Mikey hated to see having nightmares. Leo didn't wake up screaming, shouting or shivering – no, Leo woke up _fighting_. The first time Mikey had tried to wake his older brother from an obviously less-than pleasant dream, Leo had nearly gutted him with a tanto he had hidden under his pillow.

Mikey was positive that his current experience would be no different. Strapped to a cold metal exam table, tilted to an upright position, his arms and legs were held completely immobile. A wide length of stiff, scratchy, canvas-like material was banded across his chest and stomach. Neck restraints prevented him from even turning his head when sounds of a drill being fired up, came from beside him.

The four of them had been captured by Bishop's men when they'd tried to infiltrate the man's stronghold. Bishop's men were not trained foot soldiers; they did not fight the same way Karai and her foot soldiers did, and no matter how skilled he and his brothers were in combat, they did not stand a chance against over fifty guards armed with automatic weapons and laser rifles.

Mikey refused to back down and lower his gaze when Bishop reappeared in front of him, arms folded. The drill was nowhere to be found; a scare tactic, Mikey realized, and he bared his teeth in a silent snarl, trying to let anger replace the helpless fear attempting to overtake him.

"Are you ready for round two?" Bishop asked. His voice was relaxed, almost jovial. Mikey shuddered – the man sounded as though he truly felt no guilt, no remorse for what he was doing. Even your typical animal abusers showed more signs of upset after kicking a dog then this monster did for treating him as less than even a lab specimen.

"Ya sure you don't need time to analyze the stuff you've already taken?" Mikey asked weakly, hoping to distract the scientist-slash-government agent, but the man seemed relentless. His eyes, cold and hard, seemed to look through Mikey, beyond him, to a future only Bishop could see. The faint hope of sidetracking him died a silent death, leaving Mikey cold and sick with fear inside. "I don't mind if you wanna take a break, you know. I hear government types work long hours."

Bishop chuckled, the light tone gone now, leaving in its place a frozen sound devoid of any humanity whatsoever. "I..._appreciate_ your concern. However, I assure you, I will have ample amounts of time to study your own, unique genetic material." His eyes flashed behind his darkly-tinted glasses. "After I have examined all four of you, that is." One hand reached under the table, rummaging for something.

Mikey closed his eyes and waited. He'd been poked, prodded, sliced at and drained of blood, vial after vial flowing away through a maze of tubes while he could only sit and watch. His mouth had been swabbed, the cottony fibers thrust down his throat in Bishop's supposedly earnest attempt to be 'thorough'. Swatches of skin had been stripped away without any kind of anesthesia, painful shell and plastron scrapings collected with a razor-sharp scalpel to be tagged and stored away.

God only knew what was next, and the guys could call him a chicken if they wanted to, but he didn't want to see anything else coming towards him. His admittedly girlish scream was good for a laugh at other times as a tension breaker, but he had no intention of giving the agent the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

He felt a sharp jab in his shoulder, the feeling of something being injected, and his eyes snapped open. "What was that?" he couldn't resist asking, even though a part of him was deathly afraid to hear the answer.

"A sedative," Bishop said casually, setting the syringe down and picking up a cloth. The agent wiped his hands carefully, eying the captive mutant as though trying to analyze him through mere observation. "And now, it's time for you to make a choice."

"A choice?" That did not sound good.

Bishop smiled again, making Mikey cringe. "Yes, a choice. I am in the process of testing a new formula for my super soldiers – one I hope to begin testing on normal, human soldiers, pending the outcome of certain...experiments." Flicking a switch, the neck restraints unlatched and slithered away inside the table, like a seatbelt retracting. Mikey could move his head, and his eyes automatically began tracking Bishop as the man moved to the other side of him, gesturing to a table filled with vials, test tubes and other apparatus Mikey vaguely recognized, having seen a similar setup in Donatello's own lab. Bishop held up a vial of a light blue liquid, twisting it in the light, letting it swirl in front of Mikey's eyes. "This is a hormonal serum, designed to loosen a person's inhibitions, much like alcohol. But the added effect is that it increases one's natural aggression." Bishop moved closer to Mikey, who flinched. "It greatly increased aggression in rats and lab mice that had previously coexisted harmoniously. Now it's time to move up the evolutionary ladder. You and your kin are not human, but genetically, you do have human DNA within your structure. That's why your mutation has you walking on two feet instead of four, why your brain is exactly like that of a humans, and not that of a simple red-eared slider." He smiled. "You are the perfect 'next step' before I begin the human trials."

Mikey blinked, confused. For a minute, it had been like listening to Donnie trying to teach him science. But Donnie was nothing like this creep. "So what's the choice?" He was incredibly surprised – and thankful – that his words came out without a single tremor.

"You get to choose who gets the serum." Bishop turned around and walked in front of Mikey, heading for the wall. A flat switch was embedded into a steel panel and Bishop pushed it. The metal walls suddenly pulled apart, revealing an inner chamber – with two very familiar figures securely strapped down, side-by-side, on matching stainless steel exam tables. "I need to test whether or not a subject can resist the aggressive side effects, if they can fight back against it and restrain themselves. It's an important step, on the road to achieving the perfect soldier for this great country. To have the ability to destroy everything, carry out any mission, without being hindered by something so paltry as a conscience. You should feel proud to be a part of history."

"No!" The word escaped Mikey's mouth automatically as he saw his brother push weakly against the restraints, nearly out of it but obviously trying to fight his way awake. "Raph?" On the other side, Leatherhead was completely unconscious, head dangling down loosely on his massive chest. "Leatherhead!"

"Which one shall it be, hmm?" Bishop stepped between the two groggy mutants, like a game show host showing off a pair of prizes. "Which one do you want to try and attack you? Which one would you like to subject to the serum and whatever interesting effects that could possibly happen?"

Mikey glared at the man. "You must be totally cracked if you think I'll make a choice," he growled, twisting futilely within his restraints. "You're going to do what you want anyway – nothing about this is my choice at all!"

Bishop laughed, sounding truly amused. "True enough," he allowed. "One of them _will_ be injected, regardless. But think of it as a kindness on my part. You can have your brother subjected to it – maybe it won't affect him. Maybe your bond as brothers will let you reach him in a highly aggressive state." He tapped Leatherhead's table. "Or maybe your friendship with this one will allow you to do the same? Though I wouldn't be too sure of that – the crocodile is particularly aggressive even without the serum, reverting to animalistic rages with amazing ease." He smiled again, his teeth gleaming white in the harsh lights of the lab. "Either way, the results will be interesting and informative. Make your choice."

Tears bit the corners of his eyes, but Mikey held them back desperately. He didn't want to do this! He didn't want either of them to get stuck with any kind of needle and serum drummed up by a mad scientist! But...Mikey looked up, biting his lower lip.

Flashes of his first memory of Leatherhead came back to him; thoughts of a mindless rampaging creature bent on tearing him limb from limb. He recalled how easily Leatherhead was able to get a hold of him, slamming him into the cement wall, cracking it like a spiderweb of concrete. It had taken all three of his brothers to wrestle him to the ground and hold him there.

Right on the heels of that memory came another, a more recent one, where in concern, he had tried to comfort a shaky Leatherhead – and he'd been struck aside with such ease. There had been no reaching him, and that was when Leatherhead had been in control of his own mind. Traumatized, sure, but not under any kind of drug. His brothers had rescued him after he'd been knocked for a loop. He'd been lucky to get away with only a few bruises to remind him of that encounter.

The crocodile was ridiculously strong. In a way, so was Raphael, but Mikey would bet more on his bond with his brother, no matter how tenuous it sometimes was (particularly after Mikey pulled any of his pranks), than he would on the relatively new one of friendship they shared with Leatherhead. Which meant...

Tears filled his eyes, and he couldn't hold them back. He was going to betray his brother because he was a coward, because he was afraid of being killed by Leatherhead. His brother was going to pay the price for his cowardice. Mikey's head lowered as he whispered brokenly, "I... choose my brother."

Bishop nodded, looking amused, and not particularly surprised. "I thought you would," was the only comment he made as he opened a drawer by Raph's table. A needle had already been prepared and Mikey forced himself to watch, refusing to hide his eyes from what he had chosen, as the agent leaned over his brother, injecting it into his shoulder. Raph muttered something, shifting in discomfort, still half-out of it, and Mikey closed his eyes.

The sedative he'd been injected with suddenly began to take effect, and Mikey let himself willingly be taken away into the darkness, wanting to leave what he'd done behind him. The last thing he heard before he went under completely, was Bishop addressing a sentry at the door:

"Take them both to the cell."

---

**End part 1 of 11.**

**Notes: **While writing this part, I was researching the episodes where Bishop had them captured. I know Leatherhead's trauma-induced attack on Mikey happened later, after they all escaped, and so I'm placing this fic at a time after that, making it an AU ep, a time when thy had been captured again. Being attacked by LH twice would make Mikey less inclined to choose him then if it had just been the one time (and Mikey HAD been able to reason with LH th first time), and I needed him to choose Raphael. Hope this doesn't confuse you too much.


	2. No Choice

**Series Title:** Always

**Chapter Title:** No Choice

**Author: **(travelingstorm)

**Rating:** Part 2/11 - M, NC17ish overall

**Word Count (fic portion) Chapter 1: ** 2971

**Warnings: **This is going to be _**DARK DARK ANGSTY TORTURE AND MORE!**_ Lots of not-so-nice details, including Bishop, turtle-torture, drugs, psychological problems and even more unspeakable acts that will be NOT be labeled for fear of giving the whole plot away. There WILL be a happy ending (eventually) but the road from here to there is going to be long and painful.

**Additional Warning: **This part focuses on two principal characters (and if you read part one, you know who they are) and contains**adult situations** While not entirely graphic, there are strong hints and descriptions of acts not to everyone's taste. You know where the back button is if you don't like it. You may feel there is some OOC'ness. I blame the drugs. I also will say that everything will be explained in future fics. The first 3 fics deal with the immediate event. The last EIGHT deal with the fall-out. We still have a long way to go but this will be the worst of it. If you can get through this, the rest of the fics will be tamer, even 'healing' in later parts.

**Notes:** This is an 11 part story, with each section falling under a different theme in LJ's fanfic100 community, character: Michaelangelo. This is chapter one, theme 33: **Too Much**.

**ooo...000...ooo**

_Mikey knew he had been drugged, even if his memory was a bit hazy. He thought his eyes had been open, but everything was dark. Now while Mikey knew that darkness was, well, dark, he hadn't known that darkness could also be so heavy. His arms and legs felt pinned, held down by invisible weights. Even though he couldn't see anything except pitch blackness, his ears suddenly kicked in, and he could hear vague and fuzzy voices talking, as though from a great distance. His body swayed, floating, and he came to the conclusion that he was being moved._

"_...an interesting side effect in the mice..."_

"_What did...do? I...aggressive behavior but to...performing self-mutilation?"_

"_...no target. They turned on themselves. The director mandated...doesn't want to lose...test subjects..."_

"_What about...he said...other effects?"_

_Laughter. "...was one...didn't count on. He...animal instincts."_

"_So this...same thing?"_

"_...doesn't know...said...S'why it's called a test."_

_More laughter. "...poor bastards..."_

_Mike strained to hear more but everything went fuzzy again and he fell back into a drugged doze._

---

The next time Mikey woke up, his head was pounding and dizzy, but the blackness had pulled back enough to let him blearily see his surroundings. He was facing the wall of what he assumed was the 'cell' he'd heard the mad doctor mention before he passed out. His arms and legs were no longer strapped down, but when he tried to move them, they flopped and twitched, about as responsive as an infant testing his limbs for the first time. With great effort, he managed to roll onto his back so he could at least turn his head from side to side and see what was going on.

His vision, while still blurry and fuzzy-edged, picked out a dark shape huddled against the far wall, tucked up in the corner between it and the iron bars. Mikey blinked furiously, trying to clear his sight, and he finally managed to pick out the dark shade of emerald green he knew belonged to Raphael. Mikey squinted. No sign of red. Raph wasn't wearing his bandanna. An odd thing for him to focus on, but at least it proved his eyes weren't permanently damaged – clarity was slowly coming back.

His tongue felt thick and swollen in his dry mouth. Swallowing a few times to try and clear his throat, he tried to speak and was rewarded with a harsh cough as his abused throat let him know exactly what it thought of that attempt. _God, I'd seriously kill for a glass of water_, he moaned inside his mind. Shaking his head, groaning at the wave of dizziness that swept over him, he tried again.

"...R-raph?"

Shaky, weak, hoarse – but triumphant! Mikey grinned as his whispered word penetrated the eerie stillness, and his brother heard him. Raphael's head snapped up, his eyes zeroing on Mikey, latching on like a cobra's fangs subduing its prey.

Mikey tried to swallow again. "...Bro? ...Y'okay?"

Raphael didn't answer, only watched, and Mikey squinted again, trying to make out more details. Was his brother hurt?

"_You get to choose who gets the serum."_

Bishop's voice suddenly spoke inside his head, and Mikey breathed in sharply as he suddenly remembered what had happened. Bishop. Bishop had made him...his eyes widened, and Mikey struggled to try and sit up, to go to his brother and see if he was hurt, sick, something. His muscles scorned him, refusing to follow his commands, and all Mikey managed to accomplish was to roll on his side, one arm flopping out in Raph's general direction. "...R-raph?" He had made a choice. He had chosen Raphael to be a test experiment because Mikey had been afraid of Leatherhead. Tears filled Mikey's eyes, and he tried again in vain to move. "Raph...I'm s-sorry..."

Raphael cocked his head to the side and Mikey held his breath. Was Raph angry at him? Was that why he wouldn't speak? Or did the serum do something else?

The larger turtle slowly uncoiled himself, fluidly, moving with near-feline grace. Mikey's eyes widened again when Raph unfolded himself to his true height and slowly stepped over in his direction.

"...Raphie?"

His brother moved closer, and Mikey looked up at the looming figure, biting back a sharp cry of dismay. Raph's eyes were completely blank, a solid glittering black that hid all traces of the deep hazel they normally were.

"Raph? It's me, Mikey." Mikey gulped again, sucking in air as fear began to snake its way through him. The idea of being scared of Raph would have been ludicrous at any other time, but this was something totally different. His brother was staring at him flatly, muscles all locked up and tense, without a single sign of recognition. Mikey wasn't normally afraid of his brother – but he had a healthy respect for what his brother could do when he was angry.

"_This is a hormonal serum, designed to loosen a person's inhibitions, much like alcohol. But the added effect is that it increases one's natural aggression."_

At least when Mike pulled a stunt in the lair, or cracked a joke, he could always rely on his own charm and wit to get Raph to forgive and forget. Barring that, there was always someone else – Leo, Donnie, Master Splinter – to restrain the other mutant until he came to his senses.

_Now I'm trapped with a drugged Raphael. A drugged, angry Raphael. And I can't move or even think straight_. Mikey froze as Raphael came to a halt in front of him.

"...Bro?"

A lightening quick kick struck him in the plastron, slamming him back against the wall. Mikey's head struck the concrete, and his eyes fluttered shut as stars exploded around him, pain making him cry out. Head ringing, feeling the warm slick tail of blood streaming down the back of his head, Mikey flopped around, trying to roll over, succeeding in landing on his stomach, and he lay there panting, trying to keep from throwing up at the sheer pain rocketing through his skull.

He heard Raphael move behind him and pause. In a haze of pain and a healthy dose of fear, Mikey squeezed his eyes shut, sparks flashing behind closed lids. "Raph...Raphie, please." He chanced a glance, turning his head as best he could, and was rewarded with the sight of his brother staring at him in...confusion? "Raph?"

The dim lighting, mild as it was, was still too much for his pounding head and aching eyes, and he shut them again – only to have them fly back open as a heavy weight pinned him to the ground. Mikey gasped and tried to move, his arms feeling about as strong as molded jello cubes. "What are you doing? Get offa me!"

A warning growl sounded above him and suddenly Raph's face was behind his head. Mikey froze. Was Raph...sniffing him?

Raphael did something extremely weird then. He nuzzled just behind the small indent that was Mikey's ear. Mikey shuddered at the alien sensation, trying to push up. "Dude, wake up!" 

Raphael growled, and smacked him. Mikey gasped in pain and went still, spots of light dancing in his vision, his stomach heaving again. Raph's weight had settled along the length of his shell, as though he were using Mikey as a mattress, pressing him into the dirty cement floor. For a second, Mikey floated, semi-conscious, before fighting back against the darkness trying to creep in from the corner of his eyes.

His brother was still nuzzling him, he realized hazily. _Raph shouldn't be doing that_. His brother was still growling, a low growl, and one hand was clutching Mikey's shoulder possessively, as though trying to prevent the other turtle from going anywhere. _Not that I can,_ Mikey thought, feeling almost faint with pain.

Then Raph lifted him up a bit, and Mikey instinctively thrust his hands and knees down, bracing himself to keep from a sudden fall should Raph decide to let go. But he didn't. The hand on Mikey' shoulder tightened, and his other hand wrapped around Mikey's waist, trailing lightly along his plastron. Mikey, sick and still terrified, still managed to blush. Their plastrons were surprisingly sensitive to light touches, which sometimes led to embarrassing moments in the infirmary when they needed patching up. This was getting far too...well, intimate.

"Raph, stop! It's me, Mikey! Your brother!" Raph's hand trailed lower, blunt fingers marking a zigzagging path, squared off nails raking gently. Mikey gasped through the pain in his head. "Your _male_ brother! Remember?"

Raphael growled again. He cried out, all thought leaving him as Raphael suddenly bit down on Mikey's neck, sharp teeth piercing the skin and sucking hard. _The serum made Raph a vampire_, Mikey thought woozily, trying to ignore the oddly pleasurable sensation of Raph sucking on his neck. He concentrated as best he could on raising his arm, a weak attempt to bat Raph away, but was barely able to lift it. This was wrong on so many levels, and if he could just think for a second, he'd be able to figure out a way to stop all this. Raph pulled away, licking the mark as he did, fingers rubbing Mikey's plastron, and Mikey closed his eyes, trying not to feel.

"R-raph..." he choked out. "T-this isn't...y-you. It's the drugs talking, man. Snap out out of it!"

Another warning growl, louder this time, and suddenly Mikey felt something hard against his leg. His eyes snapped open as he realized just what it was, and he thrashed violently, trying to squirm away. "No!"

Raphael's fist slammed down on his already aching skull and Mikey blacked out for a minute, all thoughts fading away. When he came back to himself in a haze of foggy gray, Raph was still nuzzling him, licking his neck, sending little bolts of tingles down his spine. The hard length he knew to be Raph's...little Raph, was still pressed against him.

Mikey had watched enough TV in his life to know what sex was. The actual act was something he'd never experienced before, and had never thought he ever would. The realization at the time had been a bit of a downer, but it hadn't been a huge priority for him at the time. But even if he had been ready for the experience, he didn't want his first time to be like_ this_. He hadn't even known it was possible.

Oh, they had the... parts ,for sex. Mikey dizzily recalled a flash of memory, of Donnie and Splinter teaming up to give them a talk about puberty and how they were built, both similar and different from humans. Mikey vaguely recalled being grateful that they didn't have the 'dangly bits' that human males had; their structure had everything tucked away nice and neat. Donatello had explained that when they were aroused, everything would...happen as needed. He had been too embarrassed to say it out loud, especially in front of Master Splinter, but amid the giggles and red faces, they all knew exactly what happened. Puberty came to everyone, even mutant turtles, and it was around age twelve or so that everyone had pretty much demanded having their own private rooms. Complete with doors and locks salvaged from the junk yard.

But this...in his wildest - and admittedly, kinkiest - dreams, Mikey had never envisioned anything like this. He tried again to reach his brother through the drugs. "Raph! Please! Listen to me! It's me, Mikey! Your brother!"

Raph snorted, and then _pushed_. Mikey's vision was eclipsed by white hot pain rushing up his spinal cord and he screamed in shock, fingers digging into crumbling concrete. Raphael grunted, pulled back and then moved again, and Mike groaned in pain, feeling lightheaded.

This was wrong, this was bad, this _hurt_. Mikey's thoughts, jumbled and panicked, raced around his brain in circles like gerbils on a motorized wheel, unable to slow down, and he bit back the tide of anger he could feel welling up at Raphael, trying to keep it down. This was not Raph's fault. His brother was out of his mind, he was under the influence of a souped-up cocktail courtesy of the most evil man on the planet, and he was not going to blame his brother! If only he could move, fight back, but his muscles were limp, loose, like cooked strands of spaghetti.

Silent tears leaked down Mikey's face. It was his fault. He had told Bishop to choose Raphael. It was all his fault, his choice. It was...

...not so painful anymore. Mikey's eyes shot snapped open again as he came out of his head to realize his own mouth was hanging open, wide-mouthed gasps escaping him. Something had been different. Something had--

_Oohhhhh, __**shit**_

Raph moved again and hit something that sent a bolt of pleasure shooting through his belly, making his toes curl in an automatic reflex. Mikey gasped again and Raphael growled in his ear.

No. _NO_. Mikey fought against the feeling with everything he had, which ultimately, wasn't very much. Raph snarled and hit him again, trying to keep him still. Dizzy and disoriented, his own body welcomed the pleasurable feeling when it came back, trying to override the pain in his head. _Gating mechanism_, Mikey thought disjointedly, remembering another Donnie lecture. When something hurts, the mind fixes on it and blocks out everything else. Only in this case, he didn't want to fixate on what his brother was doing to him.

_Why does this feel...good? It hurt so badly just a few minutes ago...It's wrong, it shouldn't be good, this is wrong..._

Raphael pulled back again and Mikey tried to move. Still braced on all fours, he sluggishly tried to buck his brother off of him – and instantly realized what an incredibly stupid move that was. His brother, acting on instinct, had thrust forward as Mikey pushed back. The resulting..._collision,_ made Mikey cry out again in confused and uncontrolled ecstasy, unable to control the spine-tingling sensations exploding inside him.

Raph's grip on his shoulder loosened a bit, and Mikey realized faintly that he wasn't smacking him anymore. The movements, the touches, they were almost gentle. A snippet of the doctor's conversation raced through his mind.

"_...performing self-mutilation?"_

"_...no target. They turned on themselves."_

Mikey bit his lip, trying to ignore the reality of his situation to focus on what he had heard. The serum made them – _ohh_ – turn on themselves. Something had gone – _oh GOD, no-AHH_ – wrong with the animals. Instincts? Mutilation? _Shiiiit..._

Mikey wasn't as smart as Donatello, but he was by no means stupid. If only his head would clear for just a minute... but between the aching pain behind his eyes, and the mind-numbing pleasure of what was happening, he couldn't think straight. Was what they said true? If Raph didn't...get it out of his system, would he hurt himself? Maybe kill himself in an attempt to burn the drug out of his system?

If that was the case, Mikey didn't have a choice. He didn't want what was happening – but he wanted a dead brother even less. He had made this choice – and in a horrible, betraying way, he was glad he did. As degrading and humiliating as this was, he couldn't even imagine what would have happened to him had Leatherhead been the one injected with the serum. He didn't want to imagine. The mutated crocodile had three times the size on Raph.

Guilt flooded through him, tears of anguish leaking down a face that couldn't fully contain its pleasure. It was wrong for him to take any joy in what was happening. He knew that. He _knew_ that. But he couldn't help it. If he was going to keep his brother from harming himself, he couldn't fight back. As much as he wanted to, he had to try. And he firmly tried to ignore the tiny spark within him that wanted to feel more of this alien pleasure, a pleasure he never thought he'd feel.

Breathing deep, he let go, trying to relax himself as much as possible, letting Raphael do as he wanted. The larger turtle grunted, snuffled, shifted him from time to time, but it was as though he could read Mikey's intentions; that he knew Mikey wasn't going to fight back anymore, or try to get away, and they both let instinct take over. For a split second, Mikey thought maybe it was cheating – letting his mind shut down and his senses just feel, accept what was happening in an attempt to get it over with sooner, but then Raphael was moving with a greater sense of urgency, and Mikey stopped thinking altogether.

Raphael let out a guttural roar as he reached his own completion, and Mikey's vision whited out again as his own pleasure overtook him by surprise. The blackness that had been hovering at the edges of his sight started swimming inward, and he knew he wasn't going to be able to remain conscious much longer. It was too much – too much pleasure mixed with pain, mixed with shock and exhaustion and a truckload of overwhelming guilt threatening to drown him inside. Raph slumped over him, panting heavily, and Mikey forced himself to stay awake long enough to whisper to him, "It wasn't your fault, Raph."

It wasn't. It was his. His choice, both when Bishop first gave him one, and his choice now to let it happen, to quit fighting against his brother. Mikey choked back a sob, even as he let the darkness swarm over him completely, drifting off in a sea of gray and black, murmuring over and over again, "...wasn't y'r fault...m's'rry..."

---

**End part 2 of 11**

**Notes: **I know I'm going to take some harsh criticism for this. _shrugs_ Have at me. Just remember though, I didn't hold you at gunpoint to read it. I tried to keep it psychologically detailed, yet physically inexplicit, and I think I succeeded. Let me know what you think.

**Minor detail** – _No_, I am _not _saying, or even hinting, that victims of rape feel pleasure during the act (though I did know of one girl who did, and felt so guilty afterwards it tore her up inside, but that's neither here nor there), but in this case, Mikey's muscles are completely relaxed because of the drugs, which have also left him a bit hyper-sensitive. In another situation, he would have been completely tense which would have made for more pain with less, to zero, chances of even the tiniest bit of pleasure.

**Lastly:** I am having a really shy week. I blame it for all of this. :) Feedback is always appreciated.


	3. Faith

**Series Title: **Always

**Chapter Title:** Faith

**Author: **(travelingstorm)

**Rating:** Part 1 -PG13, NC17 overall

**Word Count (fic portion) Chapter 1: ** 3257

**Warnings: **This is a _**DARK DARK ANGSTY TORTURE AND MORE!**_ Lots of not-so-nice details, including Bishop, turtle-torture, drugs, psychological problems and even more unspeakable acts that will be NOT be labeled for fear of giving the whole plot away. There WILL be a happy ending (eventually) but the road from here to there is going to be long and painful.

**Notes:** This is an 11 part story, with each section falling under a different theme in LJ's fanfic100 community, character: Michaelangelo. This is chapter three, theme 34: **Not Enough**.

**Additional Notes:** I think I'd better make something clear. What my characters think, is NOT what I think. In 'Protective Instincts' I made Mikey against neutering his cat – I fully and firmly believe in spaying and neutering ALL animals save for professional (not backyard) breeders. In this fic, Mikey saying over and over again 'it's wrong, it's wrong' has almost nothing to do with homosexuality/homophobia (as a slash/yaoi fangirl, it'd be pretty weird of me to make a character homophobic) in general. He's referring to the fact that someone he considers family, a sibling, is performing a painful act on him against his will. Approached differently, whose to say he wouldn't welcome an advance from Raphael? I don't know. YOU don't know. It's not a guarantee that they're related, after all. This may not be a case of incest at all. But it's the shock, the suddenness, the fact that he DOES look at Raph as a sibling (as he's never had any reason to think otherwise before) and the whole situation in general that he's protesting against. 

Many of you seem to be enjoying this fic (well, as much as we can, considering what Mikey's being put through... my poor baby), and I thank you for reading it. Now, let's get on with it.

**ooo...000...ooo**

"Down this way!" Leo shouted, pointing with his katana blade. Behind him, Donatello and Master Splinter took out the small group of guards that had come around the corner of the hallway. At the back of the group, Casey was swinging his baseball bat with great enthusiasm, nearly hitting April who reached over and smacked him upside the head in mid-stride.

"Watch it, Casey!"

"Sorry, April."

"_Move_," Leonardo growled as they raced down the metal-lined corridors. More troopers were coming, and while Donnie had used his laptop that April had brought along to hack in and take control over the security system, it was only a temporary fix. They needed to move faster.

Leonardo cursorily scanned the rooms they passed, leaving the others behind him to do more thorough searches (like, actually looking inside, for one). His mind was fixated on his brothers, and to a lesser extent, Leatherhead. All of them had been captured by Bishop during a recent battle with the scientist who had wanted them taken alive, and Leo had been taken out by a sedative dart.

The attack had been completely unexpected. Leatherhead, Donnie and the Professor had needed to visit the junkyard for parts for their latest experiments in Leatherhead's makeshift laboratory. Mikey, Raph and Leo had gone alone, citing safety in numbers. After all, it hadn't been that long since they'd all been imprisoned by Bishop. If Master Splinter, April and Casey hadn't mounted another rescue expedition and broken Professor Honeycut, himself and Donatello free...

Leo paused, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief second, collecting his thoughts. He was not supposed to be focusing on past memories – he was supposed to be committed to the task at hand. Mikey had been taken away from their group first. Raphael and Leatherhead had been tranquilized by armed guards and moved at the same time, but none of them had any idea where. Leonardo hoped that wherever they were, they were together, not only to make rescuing them easier, but so they could provide comfort to each other as well. He silently blessed the fact that their weapons had been sloppily stored in an unlocked compartment in the lab they were being held in. Mikey's chucks were in the bag April had brought for Donnie, and Leo had stuck Raph's sais in his own belt for safekeeping.

Sounds of running footsteps echoed off the metal plating that made up the floor, and Leonardo's eyes slitted open. Withdrawing his katanas, he waited until the shadows appeared on the wall and then struck. The first man flew backwards, knocking down two others. Leonardo didn't hesitate; he moved forward, striking with the flat side of his blade. Angry as he was, he nonetheless retained the knowledge that these men, misguided as they were, were simply soldiers following orders. They were not attacking them for reasons of revenge and personal vendetta's but as a response to a security alert, and thus did not deserve death from him.

Unconsciousness, however...

Behind him Donatello was typing as he moved, trying to track down his missing siblings and fellow scientist. At his side, Professor Honeycut was offering advice, trying to keep pace with him as he linked his finger to the laptop, helping to coordinate the on-line search of the base. It was harder then it sounded.

"Leo! Leo, we need to stop for a minute!" Donatello called out to his brother, eyes still on the laptop screen. "I need to figure this out."

"We can't stop," Leo said tersely. "Did you not notice all the bad men with the shiny guns?"

"Your sarcasm is duly noted. Two minutes," Don said, and dropped to the floor, typing furiously. Professor Honeycut sat beside him, still linked, doing his best to expedite Donnie's progress through the various base firewalls. "Then we can go straight to them instead of charging like a blind rhino."

Leonardo twitched, but then nodded, reigning in the impulse to move. He stood by the corridor, blades at the ready. April, Casey and Splinter spread out behind them, watching the linking corridors. "Quickly, Donnie."

"Yeah, yeah, no pressure or anything." Donatello muttered. His fingers flew over the keyboard. Suddenly Professor Honeycut let an exclamation. "Professor!"

"The password is _X923bishop-prtcl,_" the robot said happily. "I discovered it quite by accident when scanning some older archives. Someone must have written it down and neglected to delete it later."

Donatello grinned and went to work. A minute later, he had the coordinates of experiment Orange-A1, Red-A2 and Croc-B1, being held in one of the subbasements. Twenty seconds more, and he had directions. "Got it! Leo, we need to go down!"

"Wonderful," Leo said, watching as a far door slid open revealing the khaki uniforms of more armed guards. "Any ideas? 

"As a matter of fact..." Donatello smirked. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a small black object, setting it on the ground. "Get back!"

Leonardo back flipped over Donnie and moved back with them. The approaching soldiers drew closer. Two opened fire, and everyone ducked. Donnie pulled a shuriken out of his belt and snapped his wrist, sending it whipping through the air. It struck the circular device and it blew up, in a surprisingly controlled explosion. Debris rained down on them, but they had been well away from the blast radius. The approaching soldiers had not been so fortunate. Many of them lay unconscious, a few moaning feebly from the blast. Donatello gave them a quick look as they headed for the hole in the floor, and was gratified to see no missing limbs among them. Just a lot of bumps, bruises and possible concussions.

"Donnie! Move it!"

April, Casey, the professor and Master Splinter had already leaped down below. Leonardo stood guard over the hole, glaring at him. Donnie grinned sheepishly, and rushed over. Leo let him jump first before immediately following.

"Where to now?"

Donatello checked his laptop again. "This way," he said, pointing down a side corridor. Leonardo nodded and took point as they went on the move.

---

Mikey opened his eyes and groaned. Pain spiked through his head, and stars were still weaving in and out of his field of vision, but the lethargy seemed to be gone from his limbs. Slowly, he raised his hand, surprised and almost childishly pleased when it obeyed his unspoken command. Still a bit dizzy, he nonetheless felt much more clear-headed than he did the last time he woke--

Mikey's eyes widened in shock and he bolted upright. Instantly, more pain blossomed all over his body, particularly lower down..._Oh my god. It was real. It was all real._

A sudden sound caught his ears, and he looked down beside him. Raphael was curled up in a small ball, facing the wall. He was covered in blood and other..._oh_. Mikey winced. Physical reminders of everything that happened were all over the place.

His body suddenly wracked with tremors, Mikey instinctively drew his legs up, ignoring the flash of sharp pain the movement caused, wrapping his arms around his legs tightly. It had really happened. His brother had...

He swallowed hard. He knew the technical term for it, but 'rape' to him implied acting with intent. No matter what, no matter how much he pissed off his brother, there was no way he could ever have done something like this knowingly.

Knowing that didn't make it easier to take. Mikey covered his eyes, still shaking. What on earth was he supposed to do? Did Raph know? Would he ever? He had to wake up Raphael and find out if...he... Mikey shook his head violently, and abruptly pushed himself away from his sleeping brother. He didn't to wake him. What if the drug was still in his system? Would he...and Mikey would have to let him, right? Or he'd turn on himself and no matter what, he didn't want to see Raphael dead...

A low moan escaped him, and he immediately clamped his hands over his mouth, swallowing the cries threatening to emerge from his throat. Risking a glance over, he saw Raph's face had smoothed out in sleep, making him look remarkably young and innocent. Such a stark contrast to the indifferent, frozen mask from...before. Fighting back helpless tears, Mikey wrapped his arms around himself, feeling cold.

"There was nothing I could do," he muttered feverishly. "Nothing I could do. It's not his fault. I _chose_ this."

His eyes widened. He _had_ chosen this. Raph was here because of his choice. And Mikey had made the additional choice to...

But he had to! He had been too weak to fight back, too injured, and if Raph couldn't find his...relief with Mikey (which, he reflected ruefully, was a very poor choice of words), then he would have turned on himself. Mikey couldn't recall all of the conversation held in his supposedly unconscious presence, but he did remember the man saying something about self-mutilation with no target.

Well, he'd definitely been the target. Mikey sniffled, reaching up and rubbing his wrist band roughly across his eyes. He had done what was needed, made the necessary sacrifice to protect his brother. Deliberately, he shoved the traitorous memories of reluctant pleasure that tried to surface, to the bottom of his mind.

Raph muttered and shifted in his sleep, and Mikey froze. His brother yawned, opening bleary eyes and looking at Mikey, with groggy confusion. "...M'key?"

Michaelangelo breathed out slowly, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart. There was awareness in those eyes, and Raph's pupils were back to normal size. "R-Raph?"

Raph's eyes were sliding shut again. "Y'kay?"

Mikey's mouth opened and closed several times, as he tried to decide what to say. "I'm...okay," he said finally, forcing himself to believe it. "We're both...okay."

"'Kay," he slurred out and fell back into unconsciousness. A delayed reaction. Mikey shuddered harder in the aftermath of that conversation than he had before it. For a second, he thought he was going to have to...endure another...session.

"Not his fault," he repeated softly, rubbing his temples hard. The scent of himself finally caught up to him, and he opened his eyes, looking down at the filth encrusted all over his body. The sight, the smell – it prompted a wave of memories in complete Technicolor and surround sound and Mikey was simultaneously terrified and horrified by the remembrance that he had...he had...

"I didn't mean to," he groaned, and looked around frantically for something to clean up with. "I didn't...it felt...I couldn't stop..."

With another tremor coursing its way through him, Mikey pushed that thought away again. His eyes fell on the metal bars and he blanched as he saw a pail of water and a rag. It hadn't been there before he and Raph had... which meant someone had been watching. Bishop had probably been watching. Mikey trembled harder, and suddenly he scrambled to the far side of the cell, leaned over and vomited.

There was nothing to bring up except stomach bile, but his body did its best to try anyway. Mikey heaved and shook and finally fell to his knees, managing to avoid the mess by sheer luck. Resting on his knees, planting his hands to the ground, he let his head hang low, panting. Everything hurt. _Everything_.

"I want to go home," he whispered. No one answered him. Weakly, he crawled across the hard floor, the rough cement scraping his hands, but he ignored it in favor of the water bucket. A quick look inside showed it was relatively clean. A small paper cup sat behind it, and Mikey dipped it in, filling it quickly, and then downing it just as fast. Repeating it a few more times, he filled the cup back up and set it aside for Raphael. Then he grabbed the rag and soaked it.

Overcome by an intense desire to be rid of the stench, of the...remnants of what had happened, Mikey scrubbed himself down, pressing in hard against his skin. He poured more water on the rag and wrung it out before doing it again. And again. And he might have kept on doing it, had he not heard a distant explosion.

Mikey's head snapped up. Now that the gnawing thirst had been quenched, his skin slightly cleaner, he felt more of the fuzziness in his head rush away. Crawling back to the bars, he pressed against them, straining to hear. Distantly, he could hear an alarm going off, faint shouts echoing down metal corridors. His eyes widened.

It was a rescue attempt. He'd stake his life on it. Call it a gut instinct, or maybe he was just starting to recognize the sounds of rampant destruction his family caused on a regular basis, but he suddenly knew, with every fiber of his being, that help was on the way. He gasped.

He had to hide this. They couldn't know. No one could. If Raph remembered, well, he'd...blackmail him. Threaten him. Something. Mikey grabbed the rag and shakily pulled himself to his feet. He had to stop thinking about this. Stop remembering. Focus on what needed to be done. _Conceal the evidence_.

Mikey limped over to Raphael, pausing as he stood over him, fear making his hands shake, and he nearly dropped the rag. Then he bit his lip and fell to his knees, slowly reaching for his brother.

He ran the cloth over him quickly, trying to blank his mind. Raphael sighed as the cloth brushed along his plastron, removing all traces of...it, and Mikey did drop the cloth at the sound, scuttling backwards. Then Raph snorted and his face smoothed out again, still breathing deep and evenly.

"Get it together, Mikey," he told himself, and moved back again. He didn't remove all the blood – let everyone think everything was the result of injury, of Bishop's sick little _tests_. Mike gave Raph one last, quick look over, and then started scrubbing the patchy spots on the floor. Lastly, he overturned the bucket, slopping it over the worst of the mess, using the rag to mix in the pool of vomit to further hide everything.

The stink was nearly overwhelming, but at least the tell-tale scent of musk was gone, overpowered by the scent of blood and sickness.

Just in time, too. As Mikey set the bucket down, the door at the end of the hallway opened up, and he could have cried in relief to see the familiar blue of Leonardo's mask practically glowing under the white lights.

"Leo!"

"Mikey!" Leo rushed over to the cell, gripping the bar with one hand, his sword in the other. His eyes raked up and down Mikey's shaking form "Are you okay?"

Mikey used every bit of acting ability he possessed, every last drop of the old, Mikey side-tracking charm. "I'm fine, bro. Sore, but fine. Bishop didn't spare the scalpels this time." He motioned behind him. "Raph's out cold, but we might be able to bring him around." He swallowed hard, forcing his voice to remain steady. "He was moving a bit."

"If not, I'll carry him. We can't stay here." As Leo finished speaking, the professor and April suddenly ran into the hallway. Mikey looked at them sharply, searching.

"Where's Donnie?"

"He, Master Splinter and Casey are freeing Leatherhead," Donnie said, standing next to Leo. "Are you okay?"

"I'm alive," was all Mikey could say. He'd used up whatever reserves he'd had with Leo. His eyes closed, and he rested his head against the bar. "I'm alive."

"Oh, Mikey," Donnie said softly, looking at the revolting mess on the floor and the gore covering his brothers, but he didn't push anything. "Professor, quickly."

"Of course," the professor chirped, and slid his index finger into the computerized lock. A few seconds later, there was a loud 'click' and the door slid open. "We must make haste!"

"The base security systems are under my control but Bishop's got his techs hacking away at it," Donnie said briskly. "Leo, can you carry Raphael?"

Leo didn't answer, but simply strode into the cell, ignoring the mess. He scooped up Raphael, draping him over his shoulder. Donatello wrapped an arm around Mikey, who tried his hardest not to flinch away, but wasn't completely successful. Blithely ignoring the questioning look on his techno bro's face, he asked, "Can we go home now?"

Leonardo nodded, his face harsh and cold, making Mikey shrink a little. "Let's go."

Back in the main corridor, they came across Casey and April propping up a groggy Leatherhead. Master Splinter was guarding their rear. As the two groups converged on each other, he saw his four sons and his eyes lit up.

"My sons!" One leap had him at Michaelangelo's side, and Mikey wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around his father, bury his head against his side and cry out his fears as he did when he was a child. Perhaps his father realized this; Splinter reached up with one gnarled hand, and stroked his son's face gently, as though reading the soul-deep pain that had attached itself to his son's psyche. "My son..."

"I'm sorry Master, but save it for later," Leonardo cut in. "Donnie? We need an escape route."

"This way!" Donnie pointed and they all bolted, Mikey hobbling as best he could. Donatello finally gave his laptop to the professor to navigate and used his other hand to help Mikey move more quickly.

Mikey couldn't even remember everything that happened as they escaped the base. Memories of fire, explosions, Leo's screams of rage, Leatherhead's guttural roar as he came to and charged through an entire squadron of soldiers. The sound of bullets, of the chopper April had flown for their rescue starting up. He had felt himself being passed along like a postal package, lugged into the airplane, and he let it all float by.

He had no more to give. He had given everything he had, and it wasn't enough to save himself, to save his brother from doing something he didn't even want to bring himself to recall. He couldn't stop Raphael. He couldn't break them free. He couldn't fight back.

Mikey was dimly aware of Donatello speaking to him, a familiar blob of purple-on-green looking him in the face and speaking in worried tones to a red-and-brown blob. He could hear them - "...delayed reaction, maybe...", "...in shock..." and he tuned them out, shutting his eyes despite pleas from the blobs to keep them open.

He was safe, for now. He could let go. So he did.

---

Donnie watched, frustrated and worried as Mikey slipped into unconsciousness. He didn't know exactly what had been to done to him, to Raph, but it obviously wasn't good. A fur-covered hand gripped his own, and he looked up to see Master Splinter staring evenly at him.

"They will be fine, with time," he said calmly. "Now that they are among family, they will recover. You must have faith in this."

Donatello nodded, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, calming himself. Whatever happened, whatever demons his brothers had to face, he would be there. As would Leo, their father, Casey, April and all of their friends. There was nothing this family, dysfunctional and unorthodox as it was, couldn't handle together. If nothing else, he had faith in that.

The Blackhawk chopper sped silently through the night.

---

**End Chapter 3 of 11**

**Notes: ** While this chapter is actually the longest part thus far, the overall story is being written much more...compact, than I usually write. I'm trying to keep it in episodic form (even the most complex of story arcs never went beyond four episodes) which means short, punchy, to the point.

Also, in response to this PM I received:

_How DARE u write something like this? A rape victim doesnt feel pleasure from being violated. A real survivor wouldntturn it into a joke. I was raped and it was the most dehumanizing experience of my life. U need to put warnings and consider how people will feel about this..._

...et cetera, et cetera.

Sorry to hear about your attack. Fortunately it has nothing to do with me. And while I feel sympathy for most victims of ANY crime, I most certainly do NOT have any responsibility for _or _to _any_ reader. I write for myself and share it with others. Don't like it? Don't read it. Also, this is a work of fiction. FICTION. Fic-tion. As in, not real. Didn't actually happen. And frankly, the characters will feel any damn thing I want them to feel.

...my response was actually longer, as was the original message, but it was private, and this small section is going to serve as a warning to anyone else who feels offended by my subject matter.

Reviews are always good, especially with this fic, since I know it's more volatile then my other, happy-fluffy-bunny works. For everyone else who is reading it with an open mind, thank you very much. More to come shortly.


	4. Vows

**Series Title: **Always

**Chapter Title:** Vows

**Author: **(travelingstorm)

**Rating:** M, NC17 overall

**Word Count (fic portion) Chapter 4: ** 2548

**Warnings: **This is a _**DARK DARK ANGSTY TORTURE AND MORE!**_ Lots of not-so-nice details, including Bishop, turtle-torture, drugs, psychological problems and even more unspeakable acts that will be NOT be labeled for fear of giving the whole plot away. There WILL be a happy ending (eventually) but the road from here to there is going to be long and painful.

**Notes:** This is an 11 part story, with each section falling under a different theme in LJ's fanfic100 community, character: Michaelangelo. This is chapter four, theme 90: **Home**

**Additional Notes:** Splinter is always the hardest for me to write (mainly because he and I have so very little in common). Let me know if he sounds..._real_, to you. Also, I'm truly grateful to the people who are reading this with an open mind. Thank you for reading. And for such thoughtful, informative reviews – you guys are making think as I write, keeping your words in mind. Enjoy the next part!

**ooo...000...ooo**

Splinter had a lifetime's worth of experience in watching over his sons. From the very first day he scooped them out of a puddle of ooze, he had taken on the role of 'father' to the creatures, raising them, teaching them, training them. He had watched as they first learned to walk; timid, shaky movements coupled with huge, toothless smiles. He had given them congratulatory hugs when he heard those first, tremulously spoken words, squeaky little voices calling him 'Dada'. He had bandaged scraped knees, held little hands in dark tunnels, soothingly rubbed shells in an attempt to calm a crying fit. He had cared for them during bouts of illness, watched them as they grew, and as each day went by, he only grew prouder still.

They were not bound by blood ties, but they were no less a family. That was why watching Michaelangelo, his youngest, and Raphael, his toughest yet most vulnerable, lying in the infirmary, quiet and still, shook him to the core. Once again, a crucial point was being driven home – how quickly and easily he could lose them.

He had thought that once they had returned home, their healing could begin. Their physical wounds were treated, Donatello and April playing 'doctor' with Splinter's assistance. It had been heart-wrenching to treat the areas stripped of skin on Michaelangelo's arms, the cuts in his plastron that spoke of harsh hands and sharp knives. His son, his young optimist, had shuttered his eyes, blanked all emotion from his normally expressive face, and had gone utterly limp, letting them do what they needed. Before his capture, a trip to the infirmary had always been punctuated with exaggerated jokes and giggles, and an unending stream of questions, starting with, "Hey, what's that?" and ending with, "You did that on purpose! I'm telling!"

Laughter had always been Michaelangelo's defense mechanism, his way of responding to situations that might have otherwise resulted in paralyzed fear, or roaring anger. If laughter was truly the best form of medicine, then Splinter felt they could all deal with a dose right about then. Unfortunately, the best doctor they had for that, was not currently prescribing.

Splinter inhaled the scent of green tea, letting it soothe and refresh him. The two beds of the infirmary were on opposite sides of the walls. Raphael was still sleeping; he had yet to wake up since Leonardo had carried him out of Bishop's base, but Donatello and April had both reassured him that he was just sleeping off whatever Bishop had done to him.

His youngest had woken during their examination, and only Donatello's reflexes had prevented him from getting knocked down. Michaelangelo had come awake with a scream, fists flailing, eyes glazed over, trapped in some torturous nightmare he couldn't wake himself from. Splinter had had to help Donatello administer a sedative. Before falling back into unconsciousness, Michaelangelo had looked up at him, and whispered brokenly, "It wasn't his fault, Master."

Splinter cast his gaze on the sleeping form of Raphael, wondering. Both of his sons had been trapped together, and Donatello had already confirmed with a blood test that there had been traces of _something _floating through his system. Had they fought? Michaelangelo bore the bruises and scars not only of someone painstakingly administering torture, but also signs of a common brawl. His head was one bruised mess, and Donatello had diagnosed a mild concussion in addition to the other injuries he'd suffered. Splinter had noted impact points at the back of his skull, but none on his face, suggesting he had been struck from behind. Had it been Bishop? A random soldier? But there were oddly-shaped imprints on his son's shoulder as well – short, thick bruises that closely resembled familiar, three-fingered hand prints.

If Raphael had attacked Michaelangelo, that would explain his youngest son's earnest pleas. Raphael had a short temper, but he would never intentionally hurt his brother to the extent his injuries showed, not unless there was some sort of outside interference. That had been when Donatello had done the blood test.

Something had also not been quite right about the cell itself. Water, blood, the scent of sickness and something else had hung in the air, though the resultant stench had had him trying not to breathe too deeply. He was now starting to regret omitting that particular course of observation – mayhap he would have discovered the scent of a drug in the water, or something else that had caused such turmoil.

On the right side of the infirmary, Michaelangelo's sleep was becoming restless, but before Splinter could move forward to comfort him, the youngest turtle had bolted upright, sucking in a gasp of panicked air. "No!"

"My son." Splinter reached his side, waiting for his son to acknowledge him. Glazed blue eyes turned in his direction, but after a moment, they cleared, focusing on him. "Are you all right?"

Michaelangelo blinked slowly, an odd expression on his face. A bitter smile broke out, and he said roughly, "I'm just peachy."

Then he began to laugh, a harsh, almost desperate sound that quickly turned into sobs. Splinter moved swiftly, wrapping his arms around the shaking form. He was astonished when Michaelangelo refused his advance, even pushed him back, looking at him with wide eyes, abruptly swallowing back his cries.

"My son?"

"I..." His son licked his lips nervously, eyes darting around the room. "I'm...sorry, Master. Just jumpy, you know?" His eyes fell on Raphael, and an indecipherable expression appeared. "How's...how's he doing?"

"Resting comfortably," Splinter said, watching his youngest carefully. There was something odd about the way Michaelangelo was watching his brother. "Donatello and April have told me he will be fine. He should be waking up anytime now."

"That's...great."

So, something_ did_ happen in the cell. His youngest never could tell a lie as a child, and now, years later, he was still far too... open, in his expressions. Splinter cocked his head. That was it. His expression was so closed, so guarded. Splinter had always seen the innocent eyes of a child when he looked at his son, but right now, those same eyes looked...old. Weary.

Frightened.

If not for his tone, the way he avoided Splinter's sharp-eyed gaze, then perhaps he could have gotten away with a lie for the first time in his life.

"My son," he said gently, laying a hand on the bed. Michaelangelo's eyes instantly tracked the movement, and he added that observation to his mental notes. "Will you tell me what happened?"

"Nothing happened." The words came so quickly Michaelangelo nearly tripped over them. Splinter watched as his hands twisted the blanket, his knuckles a pale green from the strain of his grip. "Everything's fine."

Obviously his son was not yet ready to reveal the source of his torment. Splinter nodded, and slowly reached for Michaelangelo's hand, taking it gently, telegraphing his every move. His son watched warily, and then suddenly, without warning, fell forward against him, heedless of his injuries. Splinter caught him automatically, and gently wrapped his arms around him again. This time, Michaelangelo let him.

After a minute, the shaking began. Splinter held his son fiercely as tremors ripped through him, the aftermath of a hellish ordeal, determined to keep him from falling apart. The shaking gave way to tears; silent ones that Splinter only knew existed because of the warm wetness he could feel soaking through his kimono. He held on.

Michaelangelo gripped Splinter's arms with such force it was painful, but he didn't complain. Instead, he stroked one hand gently on the top of Michaelangelo's shell. For a split second, he could feel his son tense, his muscles growing rigid within his embrace. Then it was if a dam had burst with his action. A torrent of anguish and sorrow broke free, tears coursing down his face accompanied by harsh, gasping, choking sobs. Michaelangelo buried his face in Splinter's kimono, sobbing his hurts out as he did when he was a child.

Splinter felt tears spring to his own eyes, a silent testimony to the sheer pain he could feel radiating from his son, a soul-deep hurt speaking of fear, pain, guilt and confusion.

He did not know what had caused this sort of damage to his child's gentle psyche. But he vowed he would find out.

And they would pay.

---

Donatello yawned, stretching back in his chair. Bringing his arms back down, he gave the infirmary's occupants another quick look. Raphael was still sleeping, and Mikey was too, finally. Donatello had tried to come in earlier, but the sounds of his baby brother sobbing nearly broke his heart, and he had waited outside, not wanting to break the moment between father and son. Whatever had happened, somehow Splinter had managed to get past Mikey's defenses, forcing a cathartic release that was incalculably valuable if Mikey was to heal from his wounds, both physical and mental. Donatello could handle the physical wounds, but the mental ones...well, the best 'doctor' for that was already in there with him.

Not surprisingly, Mikey had cried himself back to sleep. Donatello hoped he'd stay asleep for a while – his brother obviously needed it. A small part of him felt oddly guilty that he and Leo had been spared the torments that their brothers had not, but he shoved that thought away. No one was to blame for any of this. No one, except Bishop.

Over on the bed, Raphael shifted restlessly, and a sound escaped him. Donatello swiveled his chair around and stood up, walking over. "Raphie?"

For a minute, there was no response. Then slowly, Raph's eyes opened, bleary, but soon focusing in his direction. "...D-Don...nie?"

Donatello smiled, feeling a huge weight lift off his shoulders. "Yeah, bro. How do you feel?"

Raph blinked slowly, staring at him blankly. "...feel?"

"Heh...sorry, you were really out of it." Donnie leaned down and cranked up the head of the bed, moving Raph to a sitting position. Filling a glass of water from the pitcher he'd put on the bedside table, he helped his brother sip at it slowly. After a few swallows, Raphael's eyes were brighter, the fogginess clearing away. "We're home," he noted, looking around. His eyes fell on Mikey, curled up under a thin blanket. "Mikey..."

"Yeah, he's..okay. Sorta. Bishop did a real number on him."

Raph nodded slowly, confusion in his brown eyes. "But he's okay?"

Donatello nodded. "Well, about as good as he can be. Physically, he'll be fine. He'll have some new scars, but that's nothing really new, you know?"

His older brother nodded, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples.

"Headache?"

"Yeah. Feels like Hun's been tap-dancing on my skull."

"I'll get you something." Donatello went back to his table and grabbed a bottle of aspirin. Bringing it back over, he handed two to his brother. "Here."

"Thanks." Raphael accepted them, washing them down with more water. "Where's Leo?"

Donatello folded his arms, scowling lightly. "With the professor and Leatherhead. He should be sleeping. He's trying to take care of everybody, and I have a feeling he'll only stop to rest when his body physically gives out on him."

Raphael snorted. "Get LH to sit on him. How is the big guy, anyway?"

"Doing better than you." Donnie smiled. "Apparently he was drugged, but nothing really happened this time around." He scowled again. "Bishop must have gotten all the samples he needed from him the last time he was captured. He woke up as we were rescuing him and he cleared a path through some soldiers, allowing us to reach the chopper."

Raphael nodded, taking it all in. "So, what happened?" He gestured to himself, and over at Mikey.

"We were hoping you could tell us," Donnie said, leaning forward and bracing his arms on his knees. "Mikey's... well, he's not ready to talk yet. Something bad must have happened. I saw the marks on him. Bishop is a sick, son-of-a--" he stopped, and took a deep breath. "Anyway, what do you remember?"

Raphael frowned, squinting a bit. "Not much," he finally admitted. "I remember that slime ball taking Mikey away. Then he jabbed Leatherhead with a needle – and me too, right?"

Donatello nodded, closing his eyes. Watching his brothers being taken away one by one had been the hardest, and the worst thing he'd ever had to live through. "Yes."

"Yeah, well, it's all pretty much a blur. A blur filled with black spots. I think I remember him laughing at something, and I know he stuck me in the arm with another needle, but after that...I think I was awake. I kinda remember seeing Mikey. I think..." he shook his head, wincing. "Man, it hurts trying to think!"

"Then don't try," Donatello advised. "I suspect whatever he gave you might have caused some short-term memory loss. If you don't force it, it will probably come back on it's own."

Raphael frowned again. "I don't know if I want it to," he admitted roughly. "I...I think I hurt Mikey. I don't remember."

Donatello nodded understandingly. "Well, I won't lie to you, Raph. I found traces of something, some kind of drug in your bloodstream. I think it made you fight Mikey – he's got some bruises on him that don't match up."

Raphael snapped his head to look over at his sleeping sibling. "Is he okay?"

"I told you, he's fine. Physically, anyway." He lowered his voice. "Whatever happened, he doesn't blame you. He woke up...agitated, earlier. Before Master Splinter and I gave him a sedative, he told us it wasn't your fault, whatever it was."

There was silence for a moment, Raphael looking worried and angry at the same time. "I'm gonna kill Bishop," he seethed. Then he looked up at Donnie, a faint hint of desperation pleading in his eyes. "Donnie, you know I'd never, you know, hurt any of you guys on purpose, right?"

Donatello gripped his arms, looking him in the eyes. "Of course, I know," he said firmly. "We all know that. Whatever happened, we'll deal with it. Mikey doesn't blame you, whatever it is you might have done under Bishop's influence. Remember that, okay bro?"

"...I will," Raph said, after a minute. Then he cast a sad and confused gaze back to Mikey, an expression Donatello couldn't remember ever seeing in him before. "I think I did something bad, bro," he confessed quietly. He looked down, hands fiddling with the edge of the blanket covering his bed. "I don't remember, but I can feel it."

Donatello gave up on the whole 'distance' thing they all tended to adopt around Raphael, in an attempt to keep from smothering him and making him bolt. This required mushiness, whether he liked it or not. Leaning forward, he hugged his brother as hard as he could, and didn't move away nor make a comment when Raph's arms tentatively came up to hug him back. "We'll make him pay," he said quietly, resting his head against his siblings, taking advantage of the moment Raphael was allowing; a rare act of accepting a display of affection.

Oh yes, they would definitely make Bishop pay.

---

**End part 4 of 11.**

**Notes: ** ...I got nothing. Review? Please?


	5. The Unknown

**Series Title: **Always

**Chapter Title: **The Unknown**  
**

**Author: **(travelingstorm)

**Rating:** M, NC17 overall

**Word Count (fic portion) Chapter 4: ** 1403

**Warnings: **This is a _**DARK DARK ANGSTY TORTURE AND MORE!**_ Lots of not-so-nice details, including Bishop, turtle-torture, drugs, psychological problems and even more unspeakable acts that will be NOT be labeled for fear of giving the whole plot away. There WILL be a happy ending (eventually) but the road from here to there is going to be long and painful.

**Notes:** This is an 11 part story, with each section falling under a different theme in LJ's fanfic100 community, character: Michaelangelo. This is chapter five, theme 71: **Broken**

**Additional Notes:** I've been traveling internationally (Shanghai to Canada) with my dog, busing around Ontario (Kingston, Toronto, Kitchener, Niagara Falls, Fort Erie etc) and now I'm in New Brunswick. What this means is I'm busy. I do my best to update but sometimes chapters take longer to come out. Feedback is appreciated, but I do not consider 'Update now' and 'you need to do another chapter soon' to be constructive or even flattering. If that's what you plan on leaving as a comment, skip it, all right? All it does is piss me off, and then you'll never see another chapter.

For everyone else who left REAL C&C, thank you very much. This chapter is for you. :)

**ooo...000...ooo**

Dear Journal:

...I'm not really sure what to write here. Master Splinter gave me this book and told me to write down whatever I wanted; he said it would help me make sense of what I was feeling. I don't know about that. I'm not sure I really want to know exactly what it is I'm feeling, or what I'm supposed to feel.

It's been a week since we were all rescued. Physically...I'm fine. I guess. Nothing is sore anymore (and I mean nothing) but I...damn it.

Okay, if this is gonna work the way Master Splinter says, I need to stop dancing around the issues and just come right out and say what's going through my head. I can start with everyone else though, right? I mean, it's not cheating or wimping out if I eventually get to myself. I just gotta work up to it, figure out what I'm gonna say.

Leo's easiest to talk about. He's been in training like a mad, training thing. If he ain't sleeping, he's training. If he ain't training, he's meditating. If he ain't doing one of those three, then God help us all 'cause he has been in a righteously, pissy mood lately. I know how he feels.

Actually, I really do know how he feels. He feels guilty, like he was supposed to be omniscient and know what Bishop was going to do in advance. No one blames him for our capture, but it doesn't matter 'cause he sure as hell blames himself.

Donnie's doin' one better. I think he...okay, I don't think, I know he's figured out that something ain't kosher between me and...Raphael. No, Raph. _Raph_. He doesn't know anything concrete – and I ain't about to say anything. He's been watching me, checking up on me a lot, and y'know, it'd almost be endearing except for once in my life, I want to be left alone. Just give me some time to deal...with...

Not yet. Christ. Okay. Splinter. Splinter is good. I like talking about dad. He's not pushing me, for which I am extremely thankful. I already broke down once – I can't do it again. Not yet. I was lucky to get away without spilling my guts once. If it happens again, I know I'll give i—spill the beans. Talk. God, it's not like I don't have experience with that.

April's been hovering a bit. Casey too. The two of them are usually attached at the hip lately, but ever since we got captured and then rescued, they've taken it upon themselves to be the den-mother and den-father of us all. Casey keeps Raphael..._Raph_, from going topside to bust dragons by challenging him to everything from cards to air hockey to Monopoly, if you can believe it. Who'da thunk Casey was such a shrewd businessman in Monopoly?

Not that I know personally – part of me wanted to join in, but the other part of me...HE was there. Him. Raphael—no, damn it, Raph. _RAPH_.

God, it's been like this all week. Everyone healing up, things starting to get back to normal for everyone else, except me. I can't. I've tried, I swear, but then I see a flash of red and I freeze up or run and God, I know he's noticed. Everyone has.

Raph's only tried to talk to me once. He came up from behind me and said my name. I cried out and whirled around, 'chucks spinning. I nearly brained him. Scared the hell out of him AND me. Then I ran, and he hasn't tried again since.

Look at me, I'm still dancing around the issues here. Okay, no more hiding. My name is Michelangelo Splinterson, and I was...raped. By my brother. Who was under the influence of god-only-knows what courtesy of Bishop, but that doesn't change the act itself. Now I have to figure out how to deal with this.

Starting with how I feel. It's funny what a week can do, you know? In a week, wounds can heal; a slash mark turns to a scab and falls off in less then ten days. In a week, I can't even feel...well, you know. Or I do, since this is my journal to myself, but anyway. It doesn't hurt, body-wise.

I'm still trying to process what happened, and God, it's hard. No one knows what happened except me and I can't talk to any of them about it. How could I? How could I tell them that Raph...no, that I _let _Raph overpower me? I mean, I know it wasn't him – it was the drugs in his system. I don't blame him. I don't. I mean it.

Okay, so I know that part I can get over. I mean, there's really nothing to forgive on Raph's part. It's getting easier to say his name the way I always do. Calling him Raphael is just wrong – sounds like I'm blaming him when in reality I'm trying to distance myself, but even I know that doesn't work for very long.

Which is why I need to deal with the other aspect of what happened. The part where I...I...

Okay, I'm seriously trying to write down what happened, what I felt, and my hand keeps shaking. It's like my body is trying to prevent me from writing down the specifics of my betrayal. Yes, _my _betrayal.

I mean, what the hell else can you call it? My brother was beaten and drugged and then set loose on me. Instead of fighting back, of somehow stopping this, I gave in and let him... I let him rape me.

There, I said it. Christ, my hand's shaking, I can hear my breath, I sound like I've been running or something. My chest hurts. God. Okay. Raph...raped me. Sorta. He did it because I was weak. I mean, I know I was hurt and drugged myself, but I made the conscious decision to stop fighting him, right? And I...

God, it's painful _and_ embarrassing to say this – well, write this. I...it felt good. Real good, once the blinding pain was gone. I did a few lookups on Don's computer to find out what really happened, and what I came away with was that Bishop was right and we really are like humans. Being drugged, I was relaxed which, after the initial pain, meant it was easier for me to feel pl...pleasure. Apparently we have prostates. Who'da thunk it?

So yeah, the site basically told me that any male – even a turtle one, I'm guessing - can o-orgasm when, quote, 'the prostate is properly stimulated', end quote. So maybe I can say that it wasn't me so much as it was my own body that betrayed me, right? That would make it easier for me to accept and start getting over this.

...Except for the small part of me that...God, I wonder if I'll ever feel that again? Will what happened be my only sexual experience? Aside from the incest aspect and the whole kidnap/torture thing, I do remember how good it felt towards the end. And then the guilt rises up inside me, choking me, when I wonder if it's possible to feel that way again...

I'm sick. Bishop made me sick. That's gotta be it. How can I put a positive spin on this? It's not right. God, my head hurts.

And somehow I have to keep all of this from my brothers, Raph especially. I can't even imagine their reactions. Pity, anger, sorrow – whatever. And Raph... he's my protector, ya know? Always has been, pushing out of the way of falling monsters, watching my back, helping me. If I tell him what happened, he'll blame himself and do something stupid - like try to attack Bishop singlehandedly, or leave the lair permanently. Maybe even hurt himself, even though he's not the emo-type. I don't know what he'd do. I don't want to know. And if I have my way, he'll _never_ know.

I don't know what to do. I've never felt so alone before. I'm not used to feeling like this, not seeing a light at the end of my tunnel. I'm broken, you see. My brother broke me, even if he didn't mean to. He broke me and now I don't know who I am anymore.

I hate this.

Mikey

**ooo...000...ooo**

**End**

**End Notes: **The next chapter should come faster then this one. Reviews are always welcome.


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